


International Fanworks Day: The Seven Fandoms' Street Festival

by Maracuya



Series: The Seven Fandoms [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inhabitants of the Seven Fandom's complex are celebrating the International Fanworks Day with a big street festival. And they're all trying to make the best of the day. Hope it's entertaining for you as well. :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	International Fanworks Day: The Seven Fandoms' Street Festival

“Put the flags with the different sigils over there! All right, and the official merchandise must be presented here. The Bearded Boss is supposed to make some profit from all of this.”  
Tywin Lannister was giving orders and pointed here and there while marching down Doomroad in front of the apartment block called “The Seven Fandoms”.

Sandor Clegane chuckled darkly and exchanged a quick view with Sansa Stark.  
“Always the dominant bastard, even when it comes to organising the Fandoms' Street Festival.”  
Sansa shrugged.  
“It's his money that's sponsoring the event. And bastard or not, he's effective and knows what he's doing. Oh, look, Hot Pie's arriving with the lemon cakes and the blue marcipan winter roses.”  
She smiled at the young man, who was carrying two trays, and waved him closer. Hot Pie was sweating, but he still looked contented.  
“You look pleased,” Sansa said.  
The lad nodded.  
“Masha Heddle is surpassing herself. Most of the food is on the way here from the Inn at the Crossroads, and so are the benches and tables. The caskets with ale and the flagons with wine are already here.”  
“Fantastic!”  
Sansa beamed and could barely wait for the feast to start anymore.

She looked over to the big stage where Marilion was carrying out the soundcheck.  
At that moment, Sandor saw the singer, too, and barked over to the man while moving a hand across the throat: “You! Don't look at my lass like that. Don't you even dare to think of some sort of hanky-panky, understood?”  
Marilion's eyes widened, and the man was gone in a heartbeat.  
Sansa sighed.  
“Sandor, you've played in too many Vale AUs of late. Really, there's no need to treat him like that.”  
The Hound snorted.  
“Better safe than sorry, I say.”

At that moment, Sansa spotted something new.  
“Oh, Jaime and Brienne are arriving. Who's with them?”  
Sandor squinted into the direction she was looking.  
“Haven't you heard? That's the ladies from the JaimeXBrienne podcast. They've been engaged as presenters for the show on stage.”  
Sansa's eyes widened in understanding.  
“Aaah, I see.”  
“And Jaime and Brienne are going to do a show fight.”  
“Why didn't the choose you, Sandor?”  
“Pfft, I'm not eager about the point with my ear.”  
“No mock-fight with Beric then either?”  
“Nope. Not keen on facing fire either. But Gregor and Oberyn have agreed to do a sword dance. Should become quite the spectacle if you ask me.”

At that moment, Jaime and Brienne arrived at their stall.  
The fair-haired knight smirked and asked: “At your lady's side again? Didn't you volunteer for the fire-eating job?”  
“How about you eating dirt, Kingslayer?”  
“And how about you licking my-”  
“Jaime! Hound! Will you behave!?” Brienne cut in, gave them both a smack and walked off.  
Jaime looked at her retreating figure, grinned, and mused: “Come to think of licking something...”  
“Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, Kingslayer.”  
“Be grateful I'm not rambling on and on about the fineries of twincest.”  
Sansa rolled her eyes.

Jaime, however, still wasn't done.  
“Speaking of smut, have you seen Petyr's stall?”  
Sandor knitted his brows.  
“Not yet, and I'm bloody glad about it. What about the stall?”  
Jaime shrugged.  
“Petyr will be selling erotic fanart. And cock-shaped mint candy.”  
At once, Sansa pressed her hand onto her mouth, but couldn't help giggling.

Sandor simply snorted and asked Jaime: “Which stall do you like best so far?”  
The fair-haired man inclined his head, thinking.  
“Mhhh – difficult to say after my first look-around. Dany's barbarian tent with the huge roast spit in front is pretty exotic. So is the pyramid from Mereen. But I'd go for the bouncy castle that looks like the Sept of Baelor. Your brother Rickon is already mighty impressed by it, Sansa.”

At that moment, Sandor said: “I've heard from Benjen and Jon they'll have a little bar completely made of ice. Going to have a mulled Dornish red there later.”  
Jaime nodded.  
“True, their stall is next to Petyr's. By the way, have you seen Tyrion?”  
Sandor shook his head.  
“No. And not sad about it. But he must be in the organisation tent.”

Before Jaime turned away, Sansa piped up: “Tell him I love his idea about the AsoIaF costume fashion show. I can't wait to see the different clothes.”  
Jaime chuckled in understanding, nodded and took his leave.

After that, Sansa craned her neck.  
“If Rickon is at the bouncy castle, where is Arya?”  
Sandor lifted his eyebrows.  
“She didn't tell me, but I've got it from Gendry that she's helping him with the High Striker. Or rather hanging around with him, admiring his muscles.”  
“I see.”

Just at that moment, there was wild yipping to be heard and a grey, giant floofball crashed into Sansa.  
“Lady! Good girl! Wait! Let me breathe!” Sansa laughed.  
Next, Eddard Stark could be heard in the background: “When she saw you there was no keeping her close.”  
“Papa!” Sansa called and threw herself at her father.  
The man laughed. When she let go of him, he clasped Sandor's hand.  
“How are you doing? And how's my daughter faring?”  
“I've participated in several drabbles. Sansa has been working for a multiple POV modern AU of late.”  
“Not modern AU as such,” Sansa corrected. “It's a Batman crossover. Cersei is starring as Catwoman. You should see her, very professional. Varys is the Penguin, they've got a White Walker as Mr. Freeze, Margaery is Poison Ivy, Petyr is the riddler, Sandor is supposed to become Two-Face in the near future, and I'm Kathy Kane.”  
“Aha,” Eddard Stark made. “And who's supposed to be Batman?”  
“That's the crossover thing. Batman is Batman. And Sandor is pea-green when I go to work.”  
“Pfft! That's bloody rubbish. A Hound's better than a would-be bloodsucker in latex pants, I know my worth.”  
That caused Sansa's father to erupt with laughter, which was a rare sight. He clapped Sandor's back.

Meanwhile, Sansa asked: “Coming back to our festival here. What will the North be contributing? And where's mother?”  
Her father calmed down and answered: “Your mother is with Edmure. They're grilling trouts, and Anguy has got a shooting gallery. The North will sell some carvings, leather articles, horns for drinking, and some winter articles.”  
Sansa looked up at Sandor.  
“Shall I get you a grilled trout later?”  
“Sure, little bird.”

Sansa turned back to her father.  
“Have you participated in any fannish projects of late?”  
Eddard Stark grimaced.  
“Crossover fics seem to be popular at the moment. I've been hired to play the headless rider in “Sleepy Hollow of the North”.”  
Now, it was Sandor's turn to erupt with laughter.

“Stark!” Tywin Lannister's voice called out to them, and the elderly man approached their little group.  
Eddard averted his face for a moment and screwed up his eyes as if he were a pouting Arya. Then, he turned around and faced the old lion with a deadpan expression.  
“Lannister.”  
“Have you already collected all the stall fees?”  
“Why, that's not my job, but the Mockingbird's. Look, he's just disappearing in Melisandre's fortune teller wagon.”  
Tywin knitted his brows.  
“Bleh. Those two together would mean total chaos in canon. I'm glad they're not shipped together.”  
“Hear, hear,” Sandor murmured.  
Tywin pinched the bridge of his nose.  
“In that case, I'm off to seek them out.”  
As soon as the man had left, Sandor growled: “I don't like it when the old lion is right about something, but he's right about Littlefinger and the red woman.”  
And Eddard mumbled: “I'm better off now, too, before the Lannister senior comes back. Sansam Lady has been fed; I take it she can stay with you this afternoon?”  
“Sure,” Sansa asserted.

Sandor looked at his watch.  
“Ten minutes to go until Robert will open the Street Festival. I should slowly put on my helmet.”  
“Yes! See, the musicians are arriving on stage. It's about time.”  
Sandor glowered at the people with their instruments.  
“Let's hope they don't start to play the Reins of Castamere and try to re-enact the  
Red Wedding.”  
Sansa palmed her face.  
“You're outrageous, Sandor Clegane.”  
“That was part of the job description.”


End file.
